














I cannot yet say that thereās a welcome chill in the air
…but it is finally September…
Could you hear the sigh in me
As I wrote it out full…
September…
Last night a deer felt at home in the field
This morning,
A hawk graces the sky above me
My creek saunters on
As lyrically as always
To wherever it goes
But to my gaze it all seems the tiniest bit different
Far more exquisite than mere words
Can tell
It shimmers from the inside
As though by a faeryās whispered spell
I take a step
And another
…and another still
Gentle ones made carefully
So as not to disturb the tender things
That call the ground home
While I search the pine straw for a feather
…there isnāt one to be found
Perhaps there will be when I return
In time for the sun to wish me goodnight
Oh, eventime…
Will the colors be brilliant in their last hurrah
Or faded and comforting
Like my favorite soft jeans
Weāll see
But I donāt want to miss this moment
In anticipation of that one
And so back to now,
Woodpeckers knocking behind me
And turtles preparing to laze themselves long
Hour after hour
Upon the finest fallen log
I wonder at what they will see
While I am away this day
I breathe deeply in
The sweet air of a new dawn
After all it is September…
Some days there is a peace that comes
That nearly overwhelms me,
As silent as a single feather drifting
As mighty as the golden setting sun
All at once my heart knows
Beyond all knowing
That this…
…this is what love feels like…
****
ellie894 September 4, 2019
I could play with these thoughts a while longer and make them just so. I wonder if Iāve made a mistake somewhere that Iāll discover only after I share. So please forgive any missteps. I want only to give them away before this day gets away from me. Theyāre yours now and my hope is that youāll find something lovely in them of your very own to keep. May you all find joy and kindness in the days ahead. ā¤ļø

The music beckoned to me
To go
So I went
In search of what
I cannot be sure
But, when I came to rest
Deep within the soul
Of my own belonging
I looked down to my feet
Planted firmly upon the sturdy ground
And what to my enchantment
Did I find there….
…but an ancient,
primeval forest…
A wildness beyond my imagining
As near as my touch…
It contained its own bewildering completion
Before it would ever even begin
I am mesmerized
As I leave it behind me
Will it stay there
Where I first found it
Or will it travel farther than far
To become all that it was meant to be
The music beckons to me
To go on
So I go
Wondering as I do
At how many moments in a day
Hold the vast possibility of everything
Yet, we move too quickly
To know they are there
I see a primeval forest
At home in the depths of your gaze
I see an ancient universe
Dance in the sparkle of your smile
In the heart of every moment
Eternity is hoping
To become the love story
That it was always meant to be…

****
ellie894 July 30, 2019
Listening to Beethovenās Pastoral Symphony

In East Texas, June air can often be as humid as a rainforest. You pray for it to just let go and rain already. Itās so heavy that I struggle to breathe.
This week hasnāt been that way. The days have had a lovely Novemberish feel to them…inviting me to linger a while…in gentle moments well spent. I have learned much.

Bunnies were born in the yard this week. It began in a frustrating once upon a time, turned into a silly sweet day of caregiving, and finally came to a secure and happy end. Iāll write to you of them soon. Yes, dear Dobby Do was involved.

So, there have been busy hours and not so busy hours, which brings me back to my walking once again….
My breathing changes when I set out to walk each evening. It slows, as do I. To be honest, I donāt walk for exercise. Iām not in a hurry to get anywhere or to do anything in particular.

Forest Bathing is becoming quite a popular thing these days which makes me giggle. It seems Iāve been forest bathing for a long time. Who knew?! I had no fancy name for it or scientific studies to tally up in bar graphs as proof that it was a clever idea. And no, you donāt need soap.
Mostly, itās about listening…to the trees and the wind…to the birds and the frogs…to the echoes of thoughts in my heart…
In everything there is a longing, to be at peace, to create, to love.

In the wild places everything is a part of the longing and belonging…from the fallen tree to the precious snail. The snail moves as peacefully as a breeze. He pauses often to enjoy the lovely moments…the tiny ones that he knows are worth all the time in the world.
The trees reach ever forth in new creation. Fresh leaves leap into the bluest sky. Fresh roots delve into the deepest earth. Trees create in every which direction from the center of themselves.
And what of love…in the wild places love is everywhere.
Deer keep close to one another in the shade of the sweetgum, listening more carefully than I do for rustling in the leaves. Flowers open in colorful surprise, a gift of last seasonās efforts and a whole yearās waiting. Frogs sing to me each afternoon as I blow kisses of goodbye and see ya soon. They probably sing to each other…but itās nice to imagine itās for me.
I made cheese ladas this week and had leftover corn tortillas. I shall feed the fish, I thought! No need for waste! The perch were boisterous and seemingly starved! A lone catfish was shy about the whole thing. With time and patience he not only came near but ate straight from my hand. My heart raced in joy!

Then, there was this little turtle. I shall call him Tiny Tim after the turtle in the song that I share with the preschoolers. We giggle and make hand motions and always but always sing it twice…
I have a little turtle
His name is tiny tim
I put him in the bathtub
To see if he could swim
He drank up all the water
Glue glub glub
He ate up all the soap
Nom nom nom
Now heās home
Sick in bed
With bubbles in his throat
Bubbles bubbles bubbles
Bubbles bubbles pop
Bubbles bubbles bubbles
Bubbles bubbles pop!
Again!!
Tim adores corn tortillas! He easily dispersed the perch and even tried to scare off the catfish who is at least three times his size! He grabbed the tortilla bites from my hand and swam far enough away to gobble them down before returning for more. We went on like this until there was no more. Plus, the sun was setting and it was time for me to get home.
Each day I arrived with something to share. Each day the lake dwellers came in their own way…especially Tim.
Last night I was awfully tired and there had been bunnies all day and I had run out of corn tortillas. So it was that I arrived at the lake empty handed…

The perch splashed at me in gleeful anticipation. The catfish floated gently back and forth at the edge of the pier waiting for my hand. But Tim….he really gave me the āwhat forā!
He swam close to the pier and popped up…
Whatād ya bring me?
When I didnāt give him anything he swam off a few inches only to return and pop up…
Seriously, whatād ya bring me?
He began to come up and just stare at me…quietly staring…
Other times it seemed he had a voice –
Hey?
Hey?
Now?
How bout now?
Now?
How bout now?
Tiny Tim was relentless.

I giggled at his eager enthusiasm. I was saddened that I was such a disappointment to him. I never realized that he would invite me into his world. I never thought they would all come up to the surface of the water because of me. Of course I know hunger was involved, a longing for nourishment. But still, there I am, wondering. I have learned my lesson and shall definitely be taking something to share when I head out to walk later. I have no desire to spend my evening being stared at again by Tiny Tim.
I know there will be more days like yesterday when I have nothing to give. The fish and the turtles will come anyway. I’m grateful for that. Love is not always about doing. Nor should it be. Love is about simply being.

Whether one calls it Forest Bathing or Listening doesnāt really matter. It may be a flower coming up through a sidewalk crack that reminds you of that time…or a single pot filled with herbs that you will use to create a luscious meal. It may be an ocean or a mountain top or a forest with a lake. It doesnāt have to be a big place. You only have to feel the gift of it.
When you find the wild places, the simple ones…you discover they are filled with longing for peace and creation…and they sweetly overflow with love and belonging….
****
ellie894 June 15, 2019
Have you ever begun to tell a story only to realize that it wonāt make any sense if you donāt tell this other one first. But even that one needs another one and so on and on. There you are bogged down in telling backstories until you lose sight of The story. Wait, what was the point of this? I remind myself to start writing and soon enough the details that matter will work their way in. And if they donāt, they probably donāt need to be there anyway.

I began writing this several weeks ago when it was fresh in my mind. That was late October, and now here I am surrounded by mistletoe and holly. I wasnāt ready then. Everyday seemed to throw something else at me. You know – when thereās too much, or it all comes at once, or you Find ways to be brutal to yourself. Because itās not enough to face the world. I must seek out new and inventive ways to be unkind to myself. I should have done … I should never have said… If only I had…
When I was a little girl my Aunt had a farm in Slocum. Itās not far from where I live now. Oh, how I loved it there! Most of the time I was the only child for acres and acres. I had a beautiful freedom to wander woods and hills and all manner of places. I cannot think of the farm without remembering dozens of stories and part of me wants to tell them All!

One time I was the youngest in a group of cousins exploring a wooded creek area where a copperhead lay stretched before us. They all ran away quickly… leaving me behind. Somehow, I knew not to get too close to the living S shape. When the kids arrived back at the house without me, my dad came looking. He scooped me up and held me close…safe from harmās way.
On the farm was a wonderful sliver of a creek that wound itself from the first pond to the second. My tiny legs could cross it in one step. It trickled under wide open skies to my great delight. Because I could be seen from the back porch I was allowed to meander down there by myself and play alone as long as I liked. A sweet joy to me… clay and all!
East Texas has clay, lots and lots of clay! Deep rich red clay. We never made a visit to the farm that my mother didnāt admonish me to be careful Not to get clay on my clothes! She said that the red clay of East Texas would stain them. It would never come out. No matter how long they soaked, no matter what kind of soap you used, your clothes would be ruined… I was never successful at staying clean which was a great frustration to her. Nevertheless, there I was baking rich red mud pies and loving every sweet minute of it.
In late October…
Ellie is still sleeping as well she should be. Itās been a long week for her…for me too. Iām afraid that if I begin to write of it I may not stop for days and that it will be too much.
Tears flow with the ups and downs of life…real life. They are at the edges of me this morning like the rain that Dobby watches from the safety and sanctuary of home. It was only a few months ago that he was lost and without a home in torrential spring weather. I wonder if he remembers that time. I wonder if it makes him happy to have a home and a family now.

Thunder woke me in the night. A gentle rumbling vibrated the whole house. Once awakened the flashes of lightning kept me entranced. Their sudden brightness invaded my dark room like a light bulb flashing on and off as one sleepily grasps at thoughts…it isnāt time for light. A glance at the clock told me it was only 3:30. Blissfully I sank further into my pillows and pulled the soft covers up around me. Not yet…I drifted back to sleep.
The overflow pipe has slowed to a trickle as the water levels in the lake drop from drought. One by one counties all around me announce burn bans. Where is ours. We should be there with the others. Not yet. With this dayās rain we may not get there at all. But I would rather have the rain than the ban anyway.
Not long ago someone built a fire in the woods near the lake. The embers they left behind and that I discovered the next morning were too strong. I let the someone who should know…know. Then, I wrote of fires and fire builders and change – embers and ashes and a lovely place to swim.
Some moments this week were not captured in a photograph.
There was the slow and measured walk around the small room with help. It was a grand achievement! Afterwards, I enjoyed a leisurely lunch with two fine gentlemen. One was a delightful conversationalist with stories of adventure. He reminds me of Santa Claus! The other man was quiet. He has lost his own stories. The way his face lights up is enough for me though.

I sat criss cross applesauce with hands in my lap just like the little ones who surrounded me. All of us were entranced with the firemen and their big red truck. Sharing photos of the children is unwise and could even be unsafe for them. How very sad our world can be. And yet their smiles sustain me all week long!

I had another backyard bunny adventure. Dobby found a prize hidden beneath the dry leaves and handed it over upon request. Perhaps not gladly…nevertheless, he did share. I held the baby gently until he caught his breath, then hopped away. Bouncing joy on four small furry feet!
One whom I love dearly had his very first author event and I was able to be there, to be some small part of it. A moment I will always treasure.
Before all of these, on Monday evening there was a scare at what might have been… I happened upon smoldering ash in a place heavy with trees and underbrush. It frightened me. Instead of a charred forest floor, it could have been far worse…far more devastating. My concern over untended fire has been ongoing for weeks now. I wake with it in the morning. I fall asleep with it at night. I am tired with thinking, what if…
I donāt know who did it. Someone probably walked away unthinking, not realizing that the tiniest embers left unchecked can creep hungrily at the dryness of the forest floor and lap at the bases of the trees.

I made the proper phone calls. And I waited. Ellie stayed close by my side. Night darkened around us as stars began to sprinkle the sky. They had a stunning beauty that hinted at the mysteries of eternity. The coyotes who began to chorus not so far away were an odd accompaniment to the stars. They sent a chill up my spine. We drew in closer, Ellie and I. What other dangers might be nearby. It is the animals who do not announce themselves that concern me. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing. We waited for the sound of a fire truck on a back country road to drive away our fear.
It took longer than you might imagine. When they arrived, the flashing lights frightened Ellie. Still, she never left me. Even when she was afraid, through the dark, the unknown, the flashing lights, the roaring sounds, the threat of danger, she stayed with me. These things should have sent her running for the safety of home. Was she too scared to leave…or, am I her safety…am I her home.
I would have understood if she had left…but I am grateful she stayed. yes, she answered me…
All ended well that night. Are we done yet? Not quite, Life answered…
A few days later dark gray clouds filled the sky as we walked. No rumbling yet, just the hopeful gathering of them. Up from the center of the field eight blackbirds took off making their way noisily to the treetops. Something about their flight reminded me to send my thoughts up high with them, on wings and let them fly. Trust in the air itself. Trust in all the goodness you cannot see.
We turned south at the end of the dam. There is a twenty foot drop that winds into a different kind of woods. We never come this way. Itāll be nice to try something new after so much unrest lately…

A short way in Ellie found a watering hole. She stepped down into it for a drink. In less time than it takes to blink, her back legs had sunk as far as they could go! I could see the panic in her eyes as she began to fight to get free. It scared me! In a flash I wondered if we were both helpless. There was no way of knowing how deep it might be. Once again this week I found myself in a place of fear…Ellie and I both did…
I dropped to my knees reaching for her to pull her towards me and to a landed edge where she could get a strong foothold. Honestly, I wasnāt thinking how or what or even why. I wasnāt really thinking at all… I was just there, holding Ellie as tight as I could and Not letting go. Anything I could grasp, I did. Talking to her…all the while pulling her back to safety.
As she was just about to break free…Dobby went in. Aargh! Dobby is shorter. Even his sides began to disappear in the thick clawing mud. Once Ellie was safely out and catching her breath, I turned my attention to freeing him. It all happened so fast.
Some sort of horrible East Texas quicksand… I finally stopped to breathe…the three of us were covered in wet red clay. My hands had disappeared under the thickness of it. I couldnāt have taken a picture if I had wanted to. The phone never would have registered my fingerprint. I could feel the mud heavy on my arms and splattered over my face. Already it was drying in places, drawing the skin tight underneath it. My heart pounded with what might have been.

With Dobbyās natural coloring he only looked soaking wet. Ellie, however, became my two toned Halloween dog! Her top half was shiny jet black while her bottom half was bright pumpkin orange. There are no pictures, only muddy fur and relief.
Dobby looked around for Bo and Jack and his next adventure. Ellie and I stuck close to each other, much as we had on Monday night. We were thinking the same thing…thereās fresh water a few yards away at the lake.
Are we done?…not yet answered life…
We turned to head towards the lake…when on our right…a magnificent buck bounded past us! He was so close that I could feel his presence more than see him. Leaves rustled as he passed us. If my arm had been outstretched his sleek fur would have grazed my fingertips. He radiated a graceful strength. His fluffy white tail waved goodbye before I fully realized he was even there. Awed by his beauty so close on the heels of our struggle to break free from the clutches of the muddy earth I could only stand and wonder at it all. There are no pictures of him either…muddy fingers and invisible grace. It all happened so fast.
A fresh batch of mud greeted us at the edge of the lake, this time it was dark gray to offset the brightish orange. But at least my hands were a little cleaner. There might be some pictures on our way home.
As I looked from my hands to my unicorn T-shirt I thought of my mother – Be careful Suzanne, your clothes will be ruined… Clothes are easily replaced. The clay of East Texas has seeped through them and into my heart – in less time than it takes to wipe away a stray tear. Stained with hope in the face of whatever may come.
As I caught my breath I thought of my Dad – how he had come for me and gathered me safely from harm. Youāre never as alone as you fear you might be.
Ellie and I together fought for safety and freedom twice that week. Unknown strength filled us. And as we breathed in sighs of relief…grace flew past us at lightning speed…leaving us to wonder over all that had been or was yet to come.

Making our way home through the grassy field and happy for the surety of the ground beneath our feet, dark storm clouds closed in around us giving way here and there to glorious pockets of light. All of a sudden… Tears from all of the moments welling up from deep inside of me…
The trials, the struggles, the chaos, the beauty, the hope, the waiting, they come into your days. Each time…yes. You answer a quiet, yes. The moment and what is asked of you…yes. To be held in unimaginable ways that you will never understand. The gift of all that is needed just then and the grace to answer, yes.
How many more moments of yes lay before me. I think itās better not to know. I might buckle under the weight of anticipating them. And then I would be too tired to answer yes when the time comes. One moment at a time. Right now…this one…a grateful heart filled with the blessings that are as close as my own heartbeat.
I will never be a woman who aspires to perfect clothes all the time or to perfect anything for that matter. Life is rich in the messy places. There is no joy without sorrow. There is no courage without fear. There is no peaceful lake unless first you dig a messy muddy hole and wait for it to be filled with life giving water.
Please be kind to others. Everyone struggles. Please be kind to yourself. You are far more loved than you can ever imagine… Now, go on out there and make a mud pie. In fact, make two, one for you and one to share…because…well…mud pies…they just Rock!

Gently this day wakes to the humming of the fan and a chill in the air. Iām happy for that. The last few weeks have been fast and furious. Let them be softened by time and rainy days.
May something good come of it all….
There were plenty of good things along the way to be sure!
A few extra feet joined in my walk. They were a grand and welcome treat! One fuzzy life hopped away! Criss cross applesauce hands in my lap with some sweet tiny friends! The sharing of a lightbulb moment! A simple meal at the end of a long week! Being a part of the very first author event of someone so very dear to me!
Prayer and poetry and peaceful moments…unopened books waiting for me…
The first pumpkin bread of the season warmed my kitchen from the inside out. The sweet scent of it drifted from room to room, a cozy reminder that autumn is truly and finally here. I shared it fresh from the oven. When I delivered the first loaf it was still warm in its shiny foil wrapper. Five loaves gone in two short days. I will happily bake more. It is a joy of the season for me! First to bake it. Then to give it away. Except the slices I taste test for quality control…
But there was a hole I never could quite climb out of. No ladder. No rope. No foothold.
Over the weekend we received some very much needed rain…
I found myself walking in the rain at dusk, such a perfect reflection of my thoughts. Thereās nothing quite so nice at times as wandering the woods in a light rain. Pull my ponytail through a baseball cap and head out the door and down the trail…
The dogs will not go out in the rain on purpose…unless I do. If I go, they go. My constant companions stay closer when it rains, pausing every few steps to be sure. Looking back at me. Are we really doing this? Yes…we are. Keep going. Ok then. If you say so.
What I can see of the sky is grayish white. It feels more like fog than sky, the way the clouds encircle me from every which way holding me tight to the ground. Tight to myself. Rain washes over the landscape painting all of the colors a darker shade of whatever they already are. Leaves and bark and flowers too…Everything takes in the life giving water… and changes.
The lake stretches out before me. Open and waiting. Tiny circles dot the surface here and there…teardrops falling gently from the sky. The pond silently accepts them with no questions asked. Each one makes a difference. I gaze a while, watching the tiny droplets one by one become part of something so much bigger than themselves. Giving themselves away. Disappearing in the whole.
We are at our best when we give ourselves away…
Deeper amidst the trees now Mozart thunders in my ear. He is a perfect complement to birds and light footsteps on a wet woodland path. The rain comes rhythmically like musical notes. From cloud to branch it falls like fingers on a keyboard composing a brilliant song! Drops that catch nearby are strong like drumbeats. They pound at the thirsty earth. While others never make it through the treetops remaining so faded and far away. They echo softly in reply to their own question.
Then there are the closest drops, the ones that soak your clothes and glisten on your skin, the ones that chill you or refresh you, the ones you keep for your very own and make all the difference…those drops you cannot hear at all. They do not have a sound. They silently disappear. Perhaps they become part of you just as the ones that offer themselves to fill the lake.
There is a gift in even the most trying times if I see with heart instead of eyes alone. Sometimes those gifts, the ones that come in the silent tears of the wind and rain, are the most precious ones after all.
Today is a new beginning, a very innocent one, fresh and full of promise. What secret destination awaits…
Spring turns to summer in Texas! Really? Are you sure? Because, I won’t fib, today mostly feels the same as yesterday. Ellie rules the roost. Period. No ifs ands or buts. Jack is going at his regular breakneck pace looking for our next big adventure. And Bo rests his head in my lap trying desperately to be adorable so I’ll share my last bite of buttered toast. He loves butter almost as much as cheetos. Even Dobby is getting along splendidly. He’s a very new story for another day. Sigh. How do they find me? Nevertheless seasons change and my daily life changes with them. There’s not much to see really. If the calendar doesn’t remind me that today is the day, how would I even know. Most of us are so far removed from the natural world these days that the changing seasons don’t mean as much as they once did. The turning itself is something though. Spring is new! We’ve waited and tended and worked. New is upon us! Spring is a time of flowers, Passover, Easter, and graduations of one kind and another. We look to each of these as transformative moments. None of them lasts very long. But each asks us to reflect on what has been, to celebrate it, often to let it go. Make way for what’s next.
When someone graduates do you honor their hard work and accomplishment or do you encourage them towards their dreams as they move forward. Honestly, you probably do both. Still, the celebrations and festivities we most associate with spring are at their core about profound transformation. How fascinating to me that a single ceremony, a single calendar day can pass quietly before us and yet we are supposed to feel that somehow Now things are different. I am no longer this. Instead…I am this…new, different. It’s an odd moment I think, and it takes me a while to catch up with the meaning of it. Sometimes all we can do is move through it, letting it be what it is. We instill such grand importance on what we deem to be the big things in life. A festival has taken place. Life is new! Isn’t it?
Towards the end of winter branches are bare and the world is rather gray. Suddenly the air warms up a tad and there are a dozen shades of green everywhere you look. The flower bud closed so tight against the world one day changes its mind and opens its heart in blossom. It’s true then I suppose that all things transform and renew in a moment that we may not even see. We are not misguided in our hopes for the future, our dreams of the new. But, we look too hard for the change itself. We want to see it and know it. We want to pencil it on a calendar with a date and time. We will arrive early to get a good seat. Our camera will be at hand to capture the perfect moment. The moment of change. We’ll be there with bells on. And we won’t miss anything.
We expect too much from the big moment. In the expecting we miss the beauty of what is real. Those things that change us the most usually arrive without fanfare. They can surprise us with either joy or sorrow and are almost never captured in a photograph. They are the unseen flowers that dwell in your heart. There are plenty of things I keep track of by calendar so as not to forget them. Others are so much a part of me I couldn’t forget them if I tried. Those are my own anniversaries of the heart. Mine alone. There are more of them with each passing year. My heart is tending a garden while I am otherwise occupied.
So, it’s rather fitting that as spring turns to summer there isn’t much to see. In fact, I almost missed it. Until, I headed out the door for a nice stretch of the legs. I walk partially because my sweet but energetic four legged companions demand it. Into the woods. Over the fallen log. A joyful splash through the creek. The sky open wide before me as I hit the field. No ceremonies. No festivals. No expectations. Just an unremarkable moment. The wind whispers through the trees telling me the story of the spring and its passing away. Clouds float overhead transforming as I watch. Shifting effortlessly from one form to another easily letting go of the last one to make way for the next knowing it will be different…but wonderful nevertheless.
I reflect on what has been. It’s the small things I recall. Early morning feedings of a tiny new life. Quietly starting wordpress on one of my own anniversaries of the heart. Being humbled and surprised when someone takes time to read my thoughts. Too many walks to count. Waiting. Simple adventures. Pie! Jack j juice box, as cute as a box of juice! Then like the seasons ask of me, I let go and turn forward to what summer may be. Hopefully an abundance of morning glories. Reading and writing amidst the daily necessities. Certainly there will be sorrow too but I’ll take that as it comes, as gently as I can.
As surely as there will be mosquitoes and poison ivy and very hot days, there will also be iced tea on the porch swing, lazy evenings listening to the frogs, and my annual reading of Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Tucked in among it all is a new anniversary of the heart waiting to be discovered. Perhaps I’ll know it when I see it. Probably not though. Moments like that are far more quiet than jack is when he begs to be noticed. When I’m not looking it will gently take root in the ever growing garden of my heart. And there it will be, waiting. One day it will flower before my eyes and I’ll wonder at the newness of it and how beautifully different everything is than it was just moments ago. 